He Was Drunk
by SassySeductress
Summary: This is a cross between the movie and the old TV show. I never saw the movie, but it is a darker take of it and things I inferred from character personalities. Feel free to give me brief or detailed tips on improvement.
1. Family Bonds

Lizzie McGuire flipped her long platinum blond hair back away from her face as she stared out into the abyss from the outside of the airport. "Rome," she whispered dreamily, staring into a scenic abyss. Gordo came up beside her, and followed her gaze to the outside, staring as well. However, he shook himself back to reality when his arm began twitched with the weight of Lizzie's luggage. "Yeah, great. Here is your luggage." Lizzie tore her eyes away and took it gratefully.  
"Thanks," she said. "You didn't have to do that, you know."  
"Well you had your makeup bag, and what would we have done if someone had came up to, and took your makeup bag while you were struggling with a big bag of luggage? We couldn't have that, no."  
"Don't patronize me Gordo." She retorted, balancing her luggage.  
"Sorry," he mumbled. Then Lizzie felt a hand on her shoulder.  
"Well, honey, ready to get going?" Jo McGuire's long fingernails began digging into Lizzie's shoulder.  
"Mom, remember what we talked about?" Lizzie asked.  
"Yes, yes honey I do."  
"And you are going to . . ." Lizzie gave her a few seconds to answer. "Shut up?"  
"Right," Jo said, nodding her head. Gordo rolled his eyes and began surveying the land again. It would be great if he had a video camera with him. The landscape was rolling, beautiful.  
"I got a luggage carrier." Sam McGuire said, coming up next to the family.  
"Well what else do you have?" Jo asked her husband.  
"A pocked knife that I sneaked in on the plane," he said. "And a razor."  
"Really?" Jo said. "What about OUR SON?? MATT?" She yelled.  
"Whoops," Sam said. Jo dropped her luggage and ran into the airport.  
"It happens to all of us," Gordo said, patting his arm. "After all, what can I say," he laughed. "It's Matt."  
"He's okay," Lizzie said. "He's got to be okay. Hasn't he gotten lost in the airport before?"  
"No," Sam said, looking elsewhere. "He hasn't."  
"Dad," Lizzie said, "don't sweat it, okay?"  
"He does have sweat beads on his forehead," Gordo observed. Lizzie glared at him and looked out at the airport. Italy. Clean, awesome Italy. If only Matt could just not ruin things for her, life would be splendid. Splendid. Lizzie dropped her luggage down and pushed her hair back with her hands.  
Gordo stared at the blond strands, amazed at their perfection. Wanting to touch them was killing his mental stability, which was something he prided himself on.  
"I found him," Jo said grimly. "He was showing magic tricks to the kids at their airport."  
"They liked it!" Matt insisted. "I even pulled a rabbit out of a hat, and this girl fainted and everyone cheered, and-''  
"And I had to write a check for three-hundred dollars to pay for a girl's medical bill," Jo finished and then dryly added. "The girl that fainted hit her head on some hard ground."  
"All in the work of a good magician," Matt said with a flourish.  
"Matt, next time, tell me when you are going to do magic tricks, okay?" Sam asked him. "You promise, right buddy?"  
"Yeah, sure," Matt said, looking out to where Lizzie was staring, along with Gordo.  
"Wait, why aren't you with the rest of the group?" Sam asked Gordo.  
  
"I said you guys were distant cousins so the principal let me tag along," Gordo explained. And he caught Lizzie looking at him.  
"I guess that is believable," Sam said, studying Gordo intently. "We do look alike. Maybe we really are related in some way."  
"Sam," Jo croaked grimly. "You and Gordo are not related."  
"No," he agreed. "But it would be cool. Because Gordo is practically a McGuire."  
Gordo gave a little grimace. Not the image he was hoping for. More like, "Lizzie is practically a Gordon." He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts.  
"Our honorary son, right," Jo mused. She put her arm around Sam and stared out along with everyone else. Matt was the first to arouse himself from the scene.  
"Can we go now?" He complained. "My bunny is starting to rattle in its cage."  
"Wait, you brought a real bunny?" Sam asked. "With fluffy ears?"  
"No dad, I brought a tyrannosaurus rex." Matt rolled his eyes.  
"I agree with Matt." Lizzie faced her family. "Can we just go?"  
"Not before Matt gets rid of the bunny," Jo ordered. "Matt, get rid of the bunny."  
"But he is so cute!" Matt revealed the bunny, in a small cage, its small mouth moving up and down. "It will be lonely without me."  
"No, you idiot," Lizzie snapped. "Bunnies don't get lonely. Bunnies eat grass and carrots and don't care about anything else.  
"Hey, don't insult Bartholemeau," Matt whined, shrinking back from Lizzie, who quickly stuck her tongue out at him.  
"Matt," Jo said, craning her body around to look at him. "We aren't leaving until you get rid of the bunny."  
"What if," Matt began, using his dramatic tone of voice, this bunny could predict the future. Win you thousands of dollars so we can never be poor again."  
"Hey, we are not poor," Sam argued.  
"I don't care if it could beam me to Timbuktu or Puerto Rico," Jo snapped. "And Sam," she whispered, "stop taking his side!"  
"I am not taking his side," he muttered.  
"Oh, sure you just keep thinking that," Jo muttered back. "Let me handle our son, alright?" 


	2. Lizzie and Gordo

"Let-me-help-you." With a great effort, Lizzie forcefully yanked the cage away from Matt, who had puny arm muscles, and searched for the latch.  
"That's mine."  
"Matt, rabbits need to be free," Gordo philosophized. "Free to roam their surroundings and free to-to eat grass that grows from the ground."  
"Do I have a choice now?" Matt muttered. Lizzie put the cage down and watched the rabbit dart across the crowded area.  
"I hope he doesn't get squished," Matt moaned.  
"Let's go," Sam said, taking the lead as family hoarder. Happily, Lizzie tottered along next to Gordo, behind everyone.  
"This is going to be so much fun," she babbled. "There are going to be so many hot Italian guys and so many cool places to see and so many hot guys."  
"You said that already," Gordo analyzed.  
"So? I don't care if I say it a hundred times. Look around you."  
"I did," Gordo replied. He lifted his arm to wipe the sweat off his brow with his bare arm.  
"What is with you?" She complained. "You are-you are like Mr. Cynical."  
"Lizzie, it is just a stupid class trip that we are taking with our junior high class. In the end it won't even matter. The only thing that matters is that when we are 18 we walk up on the Hildridge High School stage and get our diplomas and go onto college and pursue life-altering careers and have little babies with the people that we meet while in college so that we can continue the circle of life."  
"Gordo, think of it this way," Lizzie suggested. "We have at least sixty years of good life ahead of us! And we shouldn't waste it thinking that life is just something we have to do."  
"I am just sick of you talking about Italian guys, that's it." Gordo muttered. "This suitcase is so fucking heavy!"  
"Gordo!" Lizzie put her hands on his shoulders and stared into his brown eyes. "Re-lax! And, oh yeah, I am not that dumb."  
"I know," Gordo said, smiling a bit. People were looking at them.  
"You know why?"  
"Lizzie, you are acting, uh, kinda strange."  
"We have a luggage carrier back there and we aren't using it," she said with a smile. Then they both came to their senses and separated and turned to the retreating family.  
"MR. MCGUIRE!"  
"DAD!" 


	3. We are goingfor the guys!

"I am not going here to see some dorky sights and read up on the history of Paris," Kate was saying to Claire. "I am going to the mall, buying a sexy new outfit and posing outside of stores and waving at guys."  
"What about Ethan?" Claire asked. "He came along on this trip because of you."  
"Claire, sometimes I wonder if you ARE a poser," Kate griped. "Honey, he didn't come because of me. He came for the girls. And I, Kate Lynne Saunders, am going-for the guys!"  
"Sor-ry!" Claire apologized sarcastically.  
"Girls, we are unpacked for you," one of the chaperones said.  
"Gee, thanks," Kate said in a sweet voice.  
"Yeah," the chaperone said, a cigarette in her mouth. "Thanks for helping."  
"I don't mean to give orders," Claire said, bunching her eyes. "But if you get that smoke all over my three hundred dollar suitcase, you are going to have to pay me back because I am not taking a smelly suitcase back to my house."  
"Hey, hon, who has to watch a bunch of smelly little teenagers for 24 hours?"  
"Uh, duh." Kate grimaced. "Look, that doesn't mean you can stink up the whole entire car and our stuff!  
"Oh yeah," the chaperone continued. "And who has to watch a bunch of snotty annoying primpy girls who think they are so full of themselves."  
"You know, as a chaperone, you are second to us. I can report you," Kate said, sticking her finger in the woman's face.  
"You just try and I'll deny it," the woman sneered.  
"I can't believe this is Gary's mother," Claire whispered in Kate's ear.  
"Maybe that explains why he is such a jerk in every school play. He can play the part perfectly. I hate to say it, but I feel sorry for him now." Kate whispered in a gossipy tone. Claire nodded and reached forward and snatched the cigarette from the chaperone's mouth, barely missing the lighter. Both gave each other a glare.  
"Guys," Karen pointed behind them, coming out from the rental car in a miniskirt. "Look!" Kate and Claire looked behind them and stopped. A blue sky enveloped a magnificent and Victorian-like modern hotel that was twenty stories high. The windows were embellished with beautiful shades with flowers or artsy color stripes. The doors that led to the front of the hotel were automatic and filled with crowds flocking in to enjoy the hotel's beauty.  
"I think we are in a palace," Claire murmured.  
"There is Lizzie!" Karen exclaimed. "And Gordo, and Daniel, and Nina and Jackie and Lexie and Ben and Q-"  
"Karen," Kate said, holding up her hands. "We get it."  
"And there are Lizzie's parents getting the stuff out of the car," Karen said.  
"How do you know Lizzie' s parents hon?" Ellie hopped out of the car.  
"Camping trip two years ago. I was looking in Mrs. McGuire's bag for some toilet paper."  
"That must have been pretty easy," Claire laughed. "She is such a dork."  
"Those glasses have got to be changed," Karen laughed.  
For once, Kate did not pay attention. She stared at the many groups coming to the hotel. She watched wistfully as Mr. McGuire heaved a suitcase from the trunk of-of a taxi. Then she watched as Mr. and Mrs. Danter began their arguing. Kate began biting her lip. This whole trip would force them to be surrounded by adults. Not her idea of a good time. Kate and Claire both simultaneously began making their way to the hotel's doors. 


	4. Checking in

"McGuire," Sam said at the front desk, sweat surrounding his brow from carrying the suitcases.  
"I'll assume you are part of the Hildridge party?" Her French accent was horrible, and Sam wondered how she got a job at a place as fancy as this.  
"Yes," Sam asserted. "We are as a separate entity though because we are all going. As a family."  
"I can manage that," the French woman smiled. She tapped into the computer, her facial expression changing from rigid to angry to sad to happy to psychotic to normal. "Alright, here are your keys. I am afraid we could not get you into a threesome, um, Mr. and Mrs. McGuire and Matthew?" Matt gave her a wry smile. "Yes. So, Matthew was paired up with another person from the Hildridge party in one of our doubles."  
"Who?" Matt asked, only his eyes visible to the manager at the front desk.  
"Someone named David."  
"David. . ." Matt prompted her.  
"I am sorry, but the students were only put in by initials last names." It took the group a little while to figure out that she meant to say: the initials of their last names.  
"Wouldn't that cause confusion?" Jo asked.  
"No. We reserved the 8th, 9th and 10th floor for the Hildridge party. We simply put the chaperone's full names and that was it. They find their parties. They know."  
"At least I know I am not rooming with Frankenstein," Matt tried to reassure himself.  
"Maybe just your luck your roommate will eat you." Lizzie remarked. "Guys, can we get a luggage carrier now? I just want to get this luggage into the room so that we can eat lunch." Her parents smiled at her and then at each other.  
"Sure honey," Jo said, happily. "Guys, wait here and we'll get a luggage carrier." Jo and Sam went off, their arms around each other.  
"What a shudder moment," Matt said. "Well, I am going. Tata."  
"Not-so-fast." Lizzie grabbed the hood of his t-shirt. "You are just here because we couldn't find a babysitter so now you have to stick with us. Don't think that I am too thrilled about it."  
"Believe me," Matt said. "I don't. He looked around. "Hey look, there is Ethan!"  
"Where?" Lizzie let go of Matt's hood and looked in his direction. "Matt, where-" she then realized her mistake and sure enough, Matt was gone. She spotted him jogging through the crowds a few yards away. She hustled toward him and right before she was about to grab him, he noticed her chasing him and they broke into a full speed maniac human-to-human chase. 


	5. Seeing Lizzie's room

"839, 838, 837, 836!" Lizzie smiled and opened her room. "A room all to myself! And a double! I am so glad that Miranda couldn't come."  
"Lizzie!" Her father scolded.  
"Sorry," she apologized, smiling. She surveyed her room, looking at the lush furnishings and the freshly painted walls that made the whole place seem like home. Lizzie fingered the town guidebook. "Wow," she gushed. And she looked at her family and smiled. But she had a reason to smile.  
"Um, guys?"  
"Yes, Lizzie?" Her mother asked.  
"You lost Matt again."  
"Oh great." Sam ran out again.  
"It's his job to be watching him," Jo told Lizzie. "Honey, it's going to be like you are living like yourself. You are getting your own dormitory almost."  
"Mom. It's a hotel. You guys are living just a door down. Come on."  
"Yes, but this isn't our house, Lizzie." Her mother walked over to her and pushed some of her long hair out of her daughter's face. "Now, I want you to remember to always lock your door and to close the curtains while you are undressing-"  
"Mom, don't worry. I'll be perfectly fine. I am 14. I am going to be in high school next year. I think it is time that you maybe let go of me a little, you know? Give me some independence." Her mother grinned and massaged Lizzie's shoulder.  
"Nice try honey. Just, you know, don't do anything that I wouldn't do."  
"Okay," Lizzie smiled. "Um, hey, do you have the itinerary for the trip?"  
"Where is yours?"  
"I kind of lost it. . ."  
"Lizzie!"  
"Well," Lizzie complained. "It was a long trip. Things get lost on planes. I don't know."  
"Alright, take mine. I'll ask the principal for another one," Mrs. McGuire gave in. She dug into her large purse and pulled out the itinerary. "Sorry it is so wrinkled Honey." Lizzie scanned the words.  
"We are leaving to see a museum in 2 hours. And then we are going to be touring a park. . . . and then going to a fancy restaurant. Cool! That sounds like the best part. 


	6. Sipping drinks

Lizzie took a sip of her iced tea and smiled at Gordo, who was only picking at his salad, which had some unsavory looking meat in it. Gordo had only picked a salad because he couldn't read the rest of the menu. However, Lizzie did not seem to care. "So then we were like chasing each other through the museum and the guards started yelling at us. And we were like, "but sir, we didn't do anything. I mean, it was like totally cool."  
"Sounds like fun." Gordo took a sip of water from his straw.  
"So what did you do?"  
"I learned all about the Italian artists and the wonderful plant life of Italy," he replied. "Much unlike you who was so excited about coming here. And now you are acting like you are back home when you really should be looking at the culture of Italy."  
"I am looking at the culture of Italy," Lizzie insisted. "I was in a museum for two and a half hours."  
"Lizzie, you are wasting your parents money."  
"I hate it when you push your lips together and nod your head like that. Like you are totally right."  
"I am," he replied, nodding his head. Lizzie turned the other way and slurped her spaghetti.  
"Gordo, what is with you?" She asked, upset. "You have been acting like this since we got off the plane. Talk to me, Gordo."  
"Lizzie, I don't know anymore. All you seem to care about here is Ethan, meeting other guys, and just fooling around in Rome and you are ignoring the fact that there is something between us or you just don't want to see it. You know, forget it." Gordo abruptly shot out from his chair and exited the restaurant. Lizzie did not follow him. She was left alone, the friendships she had with the other people in the room deceased long ago.  
"Hey," a voice uttered behind Lizzie. Lizzie turned and stared disgusted. A guy she did not know very well stood behind her, wearing glasses and a crew cut, staring meekly at her with his head tipped down and one foot in front of the other. All at once she forgot about what Gordo had revealed to her.  
"Uh, hi," Lizzie said.  
"I'm Dave." He said, putting out his hand. Lizzie awkwardly shook his hand, taking into account how rough it was.  
"Lizzie McGuire." She replied, giving him a slight grin. An awkward moment of silence sliced the air between them. "So. . ." she began.  
"Look," he began. "I just wanted to come over because you looked kind of confused after David left you."  
"David? Wh—oh, you mean Gordo."  
"His name isn't David?" Dave furrowed his brow.  
"Well, yeah, um, it is but, um, we call him Gordo," Lizzie explained. Dave laughed.  
"That's funny," he chuckled, sitting down next to her.  
"How do you know Gordo?" In fact, she thought to herself, why was this kid talking to her at all? In fact, he was not the kind of person she would talk to—even below Larry.  
Although Larry was her friend. . .  
"Everyone knows Gordo," Dave explained. He is one of the cool kids."  
"Really?" Lizzie was surprised to hear him say that. Last time she had talked to Gordo about his social status he had moaned to her about how uncool he was, and how "cool" he thought that in itself was. And now this kid.  
"I know that you think I am weird," he said, piercing into Lizzie's innermost thoughts. "But I think you could use a friend right about now."  
"You know what?" Lizzie said, suddenly feeling less pessimistic. "You are right."  
"So, did you parents make you go on this trip?"  
"What, yours did?"  
"I don't like airplanes," he admitted.  
"Really." Lizzie contemplated this fact with interest and then pushed her hair back. "Usually guys aren't like that."  
"Well, I am. My parents made me go and said that if I didn't, they wouldn't pay for college."  
"You could have said you could get a scholarship."  
"I won't get a scholarship." He said.  
"Why?"  
"I suck at school," he said. "I have a one point five g.p.a. I don't think it will get better as I go on."  
"You don't know. Things could look up."  
"Enough about me. Why did you go?" Lizzie got the distinct feeling that he did not believe her.  
"I just wanted to see Rome for all that it is," Lizzie said dreamily.  
"And to snag a guy, right?"  
"Yeah. And to see the sites."  
"I understand. I have two older sisters." Lizzie smiled appreciatively and signaled the waitress.  
"Dos bebidas, por favor" (I can't speak Italian so pretend) she said. The waitress nodded and collected the drinks dutifully.  
"Where—"  
"I memorized the dictionary," she replied, staring into his eyes. 


	7. The Future Predicted

Gordo wandered down the tourist strip that was adjacent to the restaurant, curiously looking at all the sites. A little down the street, a secure, forest green tent that reminded him of a dark forest caught his eye, forcing him to forget the science display that had caught his eye a few moments before. From the tent emitted eerie music that reminded him of a shaman. He slowly edged toward the tent, noticing the flap that concealed the inside from view. As he drew closer, he could notice a small sign.  
Madame Coral's Prediction Chamber. Below it were the translations in four languages. Pensively, he edged toward the tent, purposely making his steps small and trepid. His feet moved to the ominous music, and he neared the tent, close enough to touch the patterned fabric that had tempted him.  
  
The flap moved. Gordo could imagine dark eyes staring at him from the crevice that had formed from the flimsy material. Dark eyes studying him. He closed his still eyes and again tried to rid himself of crazy thoughts. At this point, he debated opening the flap, which now seemed to him like a curtain. A curtain for him to be an entertainment to an audience. An audience of dead souls. Perhaps this was the chamber of the undead. A chamber for the dumb and self-absorbed souls, which he knew he had been drawn into before. A chill burst through him, stiffening his legs and shriveling his short arms.  
"A curse upon you, waiting to be unfolded," a low, grotesque voice boomed, bass overloading the accuracy of sound. Gordo cried out, but realized that it was the shaman music that sounded from the tent. Surely he had been heard by now. His puny voice had managed to sing through many a barrier and now he must pay the price for his involuntary insolence towards the spirits. After all, this was what he was getting himself into. Spirits and soul. Spirits and change.  
And then he saw the eyes. Dark and soulful, they did not look to his forehead, but they read his own and they saw the future. They saw those events that would shape Gordo's life for the rest of his life. And he never even talked to her before she revealed herself, for he slipped out of his own reality and into hers: the shaman fountain. 


	8. How to get a mute to talk

Lizzie McGuire flipped her long platinum blond hair back away from her face as she stared out into the abyss from the outside of the airport. "Rome," she whispered dreamily, staring into a scenic abyss. Gordo came up beside her, and followed her gaze to the outside, staring as well. However, he shook himself back to reality when his arm began twitched with the weight of Lizzie's luggage. "Yeah, great. Here is your luggage." Lizzie tore her eyes away and took it gratefully.  
"Thanks," she said. "You didn't have to do that, you know."  
"Well you had your makeup bag, and what would we have done if someone had came up to, and took your makeup bag while you were struggling with a big bag of luggage? We couldn't have that, no."  
"Don't patronize me Gordo." She retorted, balancing her luggage.  
"Sorry," he mumbled. Then Lizzie felt a hand on her shoulder.  
"Well, honey, ready to get going?" Jo McGuire's long fingernails began digging into Lizzie's shoulder.  
"Mom, remember what we talked about?" Lizzie asked.  
"Yes, yes honey I do."  
"And you are going to . . ." Lizzie gave her a few seconds to answer. "Shut up?"  
"Right," Jo said, nodding her head. Gordo rolled his eyes and began surveying the land again. It would be great if he had a video camera with him. The landscape was rolling, beautiful.  
"I got a luggage carrier." Sam McGuire said, coming up next to the family.  
"Well what else do you have?" Jo asked her husband.  
"A pocked knife that I sneaked in on the plane," he said. "And a razor."  
"Really?" Jo said. "What about OUR SON?? MATT?" She yelled.  
"Whoops," Sam said. Jo dropped her luggage and ran into the airport.  
"It happens to all of us," Gordo said, patting his arm. "After all, what can I say," he laughed. "It's Matt."  
"He's okay," Lizzie said. "He's got to be okay. Hasn't he gotten lost in the airport before?"  
"No," Sam said, looking elsewhere. "He hasn't."  
"Dad," Lizzie said, "don't sweat it, okay?"  
"He does have sweat beads on his forehead," Gordo observed. Lizzie glared at him and looked out at the airport. Italy. Clean, awesome Italy. If only Matt could just not ruin things for her, life would be splendid. Splendid. Lizzie dropped her luggage down and pushed her hair back with her hands.  
Gordo stared at the blond strands, amazed at their perfection. Wanting to touch them was killing his mental stability, which was something he prided himself on.  
"I found him," Jo said grimly. "He was showing magic tricks to the kids at their airport."  
"They liked it!" Matt insisted. "I even pulled a rabbit out of a hat, and this girl fainted and everyone cheered, and—''  
"And I had to write a check for three-hundred dollars to pay for a girl's medical bill," Jo finished and then dryly added. "The girl that fainted hit her head on some hard ground."  
"All in the work of a good magician," Matt said with a flourish.  
"Matt, next time, tell me when you are going to do magic tricks, okay?" Sam asked him. "You promise, right buddy?"  
"Yeah, sure," Matt said, looking out to where Lizzie was staring, along with Gordo.  
"Wait, why aren't you with the rest of the group?" Sam asked Gordo.  
  
"I said you guys were distant cousins so the principal let me tag along," Gordo explained. And he caught Lizzie looking at him.  
"I guess that is believable," Sam said, studying Gordo intently. "We do look alike. Maybe we really are related in some way."  
"Sam," Jo croaked grimly. "You and Gordo are not related."  
"No," he agreed. "But it would be cool. Because Gordo is practically a McGuire."  
Gordo gave a little grimace. Not the image he was hoping for. More like, "Lizzie is practically a Gordon." He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts.  
"Our honorary son, right," Jo mused. She put her arm around Sam and stared out along with everyone else. Matt was the first to arouse himself from the scene.  
"Can we go now?" He complained. "My bunny is starting to rattle in its cage."  
"Wait, you brought a real bunny?" Sam asked. "With fluffy ears?"  
"No dad, I brought a tyrannosaurus rex." Matt rolled his eyes.  
"I agree with Matt." Lizzie faced her family. "Can we just go?"  
"Not before Matt gets rid of the bunny," Jo ordered. "Matt, get rid of the bunny."  
"But he is so cute!" Matt revealed the bunny, in a small cage, its small mouth moving up and down. "It will be lonely without me."  
"No, you idiot," Lizzie snapped. "Bunnies don't get lonely. Bunnies eat grass and carrots and don't care about anything else.  
"Hey, don't insult Bartholemeau," Matt whined, shrinking back from Lizzie, who quickly stuck her tongue out at him.  
"Matt," Jo said, craning her body around to look at him. "We aren't leaving until you get rid of the bunny."  
"What if," Matt began, using his dramatic tone of voice, this bunny could predict the future. Win you thousands of dollars so we can never be poor again."  
"Hey, we are not poor," Sam argued.  
"I don't care if it could beam me to Timbuktu or Puerto Rico," Jo snapped. "And Sam," she whispered, "stop taking his side!"  
"I am not taking his side," he muttered.  
"Oh, sure you just keep thinking that," Jo muttered back. "Let me handle our son, alright?"  
"Let—me—help—you." With a great effort, Lizzie forcefully yanked the cage away from Matt, who had puny arm muscles, and searched for the latch.  
  
"That's mine."  
"Matt, rabbits need to be free," Gordo philosophized. "Free to roam their surroundings and free to—to eat grass that grows from the ground."  
"Do I have a choice now?" Matt muttered. Lizzie put the cage down and watched the rabbit dart across the crowded area.  
"I hope he doesn't get squished," Matt moaned.  
"Let's go," Sam said, taking the lead as family hoarder. Happily, Lizzie tottered along next to Gordo, behind everyone.  
"This is going to be so much fun," she babbled. "There are going to be so many hot Italian guys and so many cool places to see and so many hot guys."  
"You said that already," Gordo analyzed.  
"So? I don't care if I say it a hundred times. Look around you."  
"I did," Gordo replied. He lifted his arm to wipe the sweat off his brow with his bare arm.  
"What is with you?" She complained. "You are—you are like Mr. Cynical."  
"Lizzie, it is just a stupid class trip that we are taking with our junior high class. In the end it won't even matter. The only thing that matters is that when we are 18 we walk up on the Hildridge High School stage and get our diplomas and go onto college and pursue life-altering careers and have little babies with the people that we meet while in college so that we can continue the circle of life."  
"Gordo, think of it this way," Lizzie suggested. "We have at least sixty years of good life ahead of us! And we shouldn't waste it thinking that life is just something we have to do."  
"I am just sick of you talking about Italian guys, that's it." Gordo muttered. "This suitcase is so fucking heavy!"  
"Gordo!" Lizzie put her hands on his shoulders and stared into his brown eyes. "Re-lax! And, oh yeah, I am not that dumb."  
"I know," Gordo said, smiling a bit. People were looking at them.  
"You know why?"  
"Lizzie, you are acting, uh, kinda strange."  
"We have a luggage carrier back there and we aren't using it," she said with a smile. Then they both came to their senses and separated and turned to the retreating family.  
"MR. MCGUIRE!"  
"DAD!"  
  
"I am not going here to see some dorky sights and read up on the history of Paris," Kate was saying to Claire. "I am going to the mall, buying a sexy new outfit and posing outside of stores and waving at guys."  
  
"What about Ethan?" Claire asked. "He came along on this trip because of you."  
"Claire, sometimes I wonder if you ARE a poser," Kate griped. "Honey, he didn't come because of me. He came for the girls. And I, Kate Lynne Saunders, am going—for the guys!"  
"Sor-ry!" Claire apologized sarcastically.  
"Girls, we are unpacked for you," one of the chaperones said.  
"Gee, thanks," Kate said in a sweet voice.  
"Yeah," the chaperone said, a cigarette in her mouth. "Thanks for helping."  
"I don't mean to give orders," Claire said, bunching her eyes. "But if you get that smoke all over my three hundred dollar suitcase, you are going to have to pay me back because I am not taking a smelly suitcase back to my house."  
"Hey, hon, who has to watch a bunch of smelly little teenagers for 24 hours?"  
"Uh, duh." Kate grimaced. "Look, that doesn't mean you can stink up the whole entire car and our stuff!  
"Oh yeah," the chaperone continued. "And who has to watch a bunch of snotty annoying primpy girls who think they are so full of themselves."  
"You know, as a chaperone, you are second to us. I can report you," Kate said, sticking her finger in the woman's face.  
"You just try and I'll deny it," the woman sneered.  
"I can't believe this is Gary's mother," Claire whispered in Kate's ear.  
"Maybe that explains why he is such a jerk in every school play. He can play the part perfectly. I hate to say it, but I feel sorry for him now." Kate whispered in a gossipy tone. Claire nodded and reached forward and snatched the cigarette from the chaperone's mouth, barely missing the lighter. Both gave each other a glare.  
"Guys," Karen pointed behind them, coming out from the rental car in a miniskirt. "Look!" Kate and Claire looked behind them and stopped. A blue sky enveloped a magnificent and Victorian-like modern hotel that was twenty stories high. The windows were embellished with beautiful shades with flowers or artsy color stripes. The doors that led to the front of the hotel were automatic and filled with crowds flocking in to enjoy the hotel's beauty.  
"I think we are in a palace," Claire murmured.  
"There is Lizzie!" Karen exclaimed. "And Gordo, and Daniel, and Nina and Jackie and Lexie and Ben and Q—"  
"Karen," Kate said, holding up her hands. "We get it."  
"And there are Lizzie's parents getting the stuff out of the car," Karen said.  
"How do you know Lizzie' s parents hon?" Ellie hopped out of the car.  
"Camping trip two years ago. I was looking in Mrs. McGuire's bag for some toilet paper."  
"That must have been pretty easy," Claire laughed. "She is such a dork."  
"Those glasses have got to be changed," Karen laughed.  
For once, Kate did not pay attention. She stared at the many groups coming to the hotel. She watched wistfully as Mr. McGuire heaved a suitcase from the trunk of—of a taxi. Then she watched as Mr. and Mrs. Danter began their arguing. Kate began biting her lip. This whole trip would force them to be surrounded by adults. Not her idea of a good time. Kate and Claire both simultaneously began making their way to the hotel's doors.  
  
"McGuire," Sam said at the front desk, sweat surrounding his brow from carrying the suitcases.  
"I'll assume you are part of the Hildridge party?" Her French accent was horrible, and Sam wondered how she got a job at a place as fancy as this.  
"Yes," Sam asserted. "We are as a separate entity though because we are all going. As a family."  
"I can manage that," the French woman smiled. She tapped into the computer, her facial expression changing from rigid to angry to sad to happy to psychotic to normal. "Alright, here are your keys. I am afraid we could not get you into a threesome, um, Mr. and Mrs. McGuire and Matthew?" Matt gave her a wry smile. "Yes. So, Matthew was paired up with another person from the Hildridge party in one of our doubles."  
"Who?" Matt asked, only his eyes visible to the manager at the front desk.  
"Someone named David."  
"David. . ." Matt prompted her.  
"I am sorry, but the students were only put in by initials last names." It took the group a little while to figure out that she meant to say: the initials of their last names. No one thought of the fact that the initial could give away the person.  
"Wouldn't that cause confusion?" Jo asked.  
"No. We reserved the 8th, 9th and 10th floor for the Hildridge party. We simply put the chaperone's full names and that was it. They find their parties. They know."  
"At least I know I am not rooming with Frankenstein," Matt tried to reassure himself.  
"Maybe just your luck your roommate will eat you." Lizzie remarked. "Guys, can we get a luggage carrier now? I just want to get this luggage into the room so that we can eat lunch." Her parents smiled at her and then at each other.  
"Sure honey," Jo said, happily. "Guys, wait here and we'll get a luggage carrier." Jo and Sam went off, their arms around each other.  
"What a shudder moment," Matt said. "Well, I am going. Tata."  
"Not—so—fast." Lizzie grabbed the hood of his t-shirt. "You are just here because we couldn't find a babysitter so now you have to stick with us. Don't think that I am too thrilled about it."  
"Believe me," Matt said. "I don't. He looked around. "Hey look, there is Ethan!"  
"Where?" Lizzie let go of Matt's hood and looked in his direction. "Matt, where—" she then realized her mistake and sure enough, Matt was gone. She spotted him jogging through the crowds a few yards away. She hustled toward him and right before she was about to grab him, he noticed her chasing him and they broke into a full speed maniac human-to-human chase.  
  
"839, 838, 837, 836!" Lizzie smiled and opened her room. "A room all to myself! And a double! I am so glad that Miranda couldn't come."  
"Lizzie!" Her father scolded.  
"Sorry," she apologized, smiling. She surveyed her room, looking at the lush furnishings and the freshly painted walls that made the whole place seem like home. Lizzie fingered the town guidebook. "Wow," she gushed. And she looked at her family and smiled. But she had a reason to smile.  
"Um, guys?"  
"Yes, Lizzie?" Her mother asked.  
"You lost Matt again."  
"Oh great." Sam ran out again.  
"It's his job to be watching him," Jo told Lizzie. "Honey, it's going to be like you are living like yourself. You are getting your own dormitory almost."  
"Mom. It's a hotel. You guys are living just a door down. Come on."  
"Yes, but this isn't our house, Lizzie." Her mother walked over to her and pushed some of her long hair out of her daughter's face. "Now, I want you to remember to always lock your door and to close the curtains while you are undressing—"  
"Mom, don't worry. I'll be perfectly fine. I am 14. I am going to be in high school next year. I think it is time that you maybe let go of me a little, you know? Give me some independence." Her mother grinned and massaged Lizzie's shoulder.  
"Nice try honey. Just, you know, don't do anything that I wouldn't do."  
"Okay," Lizzie smiled. "Um, hey, do you have the itinerary for the trip?"  
"Where is yours?"  
"I kind of lost it. . ."  
"Lizzie!"  
"Well," Lizzie complained. "It was a long trip. Things get lost on planes. I don't know."  
"Alright, take mine. I'll ask the principal for another one," Mrs. McGuire gave in. She dug into her large purse and pulled out the itinerary. "Sorry it is so wrinkled Honey." Lizzie scanned the words.  
"We are leaving to see a museum in 2 hours. And then we are going to be touring a park. . . . and then going to a fancy restaurant. Cool! That sounds like the best part.  
  
Lizzie took a sip of her iced tea and smiled at Gordo, who was only picking at his salad, which had some unsavory looking meat in it. Gordo had only picked a salad because he couldn't read the rest of the menu. However, Lizzie did not seem to care. "So then we were like chasing each other through the museum and the guards started yelling at us. And we were like, "but sir, we didn't do anything. I mean, it was like totally cool."  
"Sounds like fun." Gordo took a sip of water from his straw.  
"So what did you do?"  
"I learned all about the Italian artists and the wonderful plant life of Italy," he replied. "Much unlike you who was so excited about coming here. And now you are acting like you are back home when you really should be looking at the culture of Italy."  
"I am looking at the culture of Italy," Lizzie insisted. "I was in a museum for two and a half hours."  
"Lizzie, you are wasting your parents money."  
"I hate it when you push your lips together and nod your head like that. Like you are totally right."  
"I am," he replied, nodding his head. Lizzie turned the other way and slurped her spaghetti.  
"Gordo, what is with you?" She asked, upset. "You have been acting like this since we got off the plane. Talk to me, Gordo."  
"Lizzie, I don't know anymore. All you seem to care about here is Ethan, meeting other guys, and just fooling around in Rome and you are ignoring the fact that there is something between us or you just don't want to see it. You know, forget it." Gordo abruptly shot out from his chair and exited the restaurant. Lizzie did not follow him. She was left alone, the friendships she had with the other people in the room deceased long ago.  
"Hey," a voice uttered behind Lizzie. Lizzie turned and stared disgusted. A guy she did not know very well stood behind her, wearing glasses and a crew cut, staring meekly at her with his head tipped down and one foot in front of the other. All at once she forgot about what Gordo had revealed to her.  
"Uh, hi," Lizzie said.  
"I'm Dave." He said, putting out his hand. Lizzie awkwardly shook his hand, taking into account how rough it was.  
"Lizzie McGuire." She replied, giving him a slight grin. An awkward moment of silence sliced the air between them. "So. . ." she began.  
"Look," he began. "I just wanted to come over because you looked kind of confused after David left you."  
"David? Wh—oh, you mean Gordo."  
"His name isn't David?" Dave furrowed his brow.  
"Well, yeah, um, it is but, um, we call him Gordo," Lizzie explained. Dave laughed.  
"That's funny," he chuckled, sitting down next to her.  
"How do you know Gordo?" In fact, she thought to herself, why was this kid talking to her at all? In fact, he was not the kind of person she would talk to—even below Larry.  
Although Larry was her friend. . .  
"Everyone knows Gordo," Dave explained. He is one of the cool kids."  
"Really?" Lizzie was surprised to hear him say that. Last time she had talked to Gordo about his social status he had moaned to her about how uncool he was, and how "cool" he thought that in itself was. And now this kid.  
"I know that you think I am weird," he said, piercing into Lizzie's innermost thoughts. "But I think you could use a friend right about now."  
"You know what?" Lizzie said, suddenly feeling less pessimistic. "You are right."  
"So, did you parents make you go on this trip?"  
"What, yours did?"  
"I don't like airplanes," he admitted.  
"Really." Lizzie contemplated this fact with interest and then pushed her hair back. "Usually guys aren't like that."  
"Well, I am. My parents made me go and said that if I didn't, they wouldn't pay for college."  
"You could have said you could get a scholarship."  
"I won't get a scholarship." He said.  
"Why?"  
"I suck at school," he said. "I have a one point five g.p.a. I don't think it will get better as I go on."  
"You don't know. Things could look up."  
"Enough about me. Why did you go?" Lizzie got the distinct feeling that he did not believe her.  
"I just wanted to see Rome for all that it is," Lizzie said dreamily.  
"And to snag a guy, right?"  
"Yeah. And to see the sites."  
"I understand. I have two older sisters." Lizzie smiled appreciatively and signaled the waitress.  
"Dos bebidas, por favor" (I can't speak Italian so pretend) she said. The waitress nodded and collected the drinks dutifully.  
"Where—"  
"I memorized the dictionary," she replied, staring into his eyes.  
  
Gordo wandered down the tourist strip that was adjacent to the restaurant, curiously looking at all the sites. A little down the street, a secure, forest green tent that reminded him of a dark forest caught his eye, forcing him to forget the science display that had caught his eye a few moments before. From the tent emitted eerie music that reminded him of a shaman. He slowly edged toward the tent, noticing the flap that concealed the inside from view. As he drew closer, he could notice a small sign.  
Madame Coral's Prediction Chamber. Below it were the translations in four languages. Pensively, he edged toward the tent, purposely making his steps small and trepid. His feet moved to the ominous music, and he neared the tent, close enough to touch the patterned fabric that had tempted him.  
  
The flap moved. Gordo could imagine dark eyes staring at him from the crevice that had formed from the flimsy material. Dark eyes studying him. He closed his still eyes and again tried to rid himself of crazy thoughts. At this point, he debated opening the flap, which now seemed to him like a curtain. A curtain for him to be an entertainment to an audience. An audience of dead souls. Perhaps this was the chamber of the undead. A chamber for the dumb and self-absorbed souls, which he knew he had been drawn into before. A chill burst through him, stiffening his legs and shriveling his short arms.  
"A curse upon you, waiting to be unfolded," a low, grotesque voice boomed, bass overloading the accuracy of sound. Gordo cried out, but realized that it was the shaman music that sounded from the tent. Surely he had been heard by now. His puny voice had managed to sing through many a barrier and now he must pay the price for his involuntary insolence towards the spirits. After all, this was what he was getting himself into. Spirits and soul. Spirits and change.  
And then he saw the eyes. Dark and soulful, they did not look to his forehead, but they read his own and they saw the future. They saw those events that would shape Gordo's life for the rest of his life. And he never even talked to her before she revealed herself, for he slipped out of his own reality and into hers: the shaman fountain.  
  
Lizzie exited the restaurant with Dave and the group. She looked around for Gordo, hoping that he had not run off. However, that was not like him to run away from a class field trip. After looking into the crowds of sultry Italians, she finally did see him, trying to blend with the crowd. But with his curly brown hair, it was near to impossible. His eyes met with hers and they seemed more disturbed than usual. Lizzie disbanded herself from the tour group and met Gordo halfway from the restaurant and the street.  
"Gordo, where were you?"  
"Well, I was at a fortune a teller."  
"What the hell were you doing there? Gordo, you don't believe in fortunes," Lizzie scoffed, shaking her head.  
"Yeah. . ." Gordo did not seem to agree with Lizzie. "She told me that in less than 3 years my life will be turned upside down because of someone else's turmoil.  
"Gordo, honey, you need sun. Italian sun." Lizzie took his arm and linked it with hers. He managed a wry smile, but still felt disturbed. Somehow, the fortune teller had awoken a fearful feeling inside him. When he had gone inside that tent, the smells had been so strong he was forced to listen dreamily to every word she had to say. But the only things he could remember were that his life would be upside down.  
It did not settle with him very well. Sweat began to form again on his lower middle back and tease his cotton shirt.  
"Italian sun?" Gordo asked Lizzie. He shook his head and exclaimed, "I should have stayed with the fortune teller." Lizzie giggled, took a scrunchie off her wrist, and tied her hair into a light, low maintenance ponytail that showed off her pale skin.  
The principal had arrived to lead the group, to Lizzie's chagrin. She was an overweight lady with her hair in a constant mud brown bun and her outfit never anything less than a long sleeved flimsy shirt and a matronly skirt that came down to her ankles. Lizzie wondered if she would die from heat stroke.  
"Hey, Gordo." Lizzie turned to receive the voice, and was happy to know it was Dave. "I'm Dave. Me and Lizzie met in the cafeteria."  
"Cool."  
"According to Dave, you are one of the most popular guys at Hildridge." Gordo pondered this fact and then shrugged. "Whatever." "I told you," Lizzie said to Dave. "He doesn't care." "Can we talk about something else?" Gordo whined. Dave jokingly refused.  
  
"Now we are going to the Square to see some Italian statues that I think you will find quite interesting," Mrs. Erinch announced in her annoying voice. "Are we walking all the way there?" Someone wondered.  
"You have a problem with that?" The principal asked. The kid shrunk back and did not say anything more. The group of students became silent as they looked at bright Italy, its buildings agleam with sunlight and ancient architecture that juxtaposed with the modern Italian workaholics that bustled around in fancy shiny cars and low heeled shoes that hit the cobbled sidewalks with a pleasantly appeasing sound. Lizzie did not see any teenagers, like she was looking for.  
Gordo took the time to think about what the gypsy, or shaman, whoever she was, had said. He would call his older half-brother. He would know. But he knew what Jordan would said. "David, you are taking this way too fucking seriously. She is a fucking quack and you know it." However, she had scared him. Gordo then noticed the statues a few feet away from him and stopped thinking about the Shaman for a while. Then one statue caught his eye. It was tan, but there was something dark and short on top. Sitting on the flat top of the statue that represented a stack of papers. Gordo stopped walking for a minute and then tapped Lizzie on the shoulder.  
  
"Is that—is that who I think it is?"  
"Huh?" Lizzie followed his gaze, and her jaw dropped.  
"Is that—"  
"I think it is."  
"That means Matt is here too! Great. Remind me to sue my parents when I get older."  
"LANNY!" Lizzie yelled, walking towards the statue. "What are you doing up there? No, I mean, what are you doing here?" Lanny stopped smiling and looked at Lizzie blankly."  
"If someone threatened to kill you, would you speak?" Lizzie asked.  
  
"How about if someone held knives to your back and electronic dildos?"  
"Gordo!" Lizzie gasped.  
"Well, we have to figure out something to get the kid to talk."  
"I am not poisoning his mind with things that probably his parents don't even know about!"  
"Everyone knows what that stuff is these days!"  
"I like electronic dildos. Give me one." Lanny said animatedly.  
"Yeah, not right now." Lizzie said. "Gordo, not everyone, and certainly not Lanny, whose father is a pastor!"  
"Lizzie!"  
"What?"  
"Do you realize what just happened?"  
"No. . ." She started saying. "Oh—my—God." She stared at Lanny, and then at Gordo, who stared right back at her, and then she stared at Lanny again, her mouth gaping open.  
"Lanny, you just spoke! Lanny just spoke!" She exclaimed loudly.  
"Do I get a dildo now?"  
"Um, I don't know where to get one."  
"She doesn't even know what they are," Gordo smirked, exchanging a low-five with Lanny.  
"Gordo!" Lizzie rolled her eyes. "So, Lanny. You spoke to me! That is great. Keep it up, okay?"  
"Maybe. I just want that dildo." He said.  
"Well, if you keep on talking," Lizzie continued, "then I shall do everything I can do to get you your dildo." Gordo began laughing hysterically. "What?" Lizzie asked him.  
"Lizzie, the kid wants a dildo."  
"And, what?"  
"You are giving I to him?"  
"Weren't you the one that was saying, 'free objects for kids! Please donate to the Gordo foundation?"  
"You don't know what a dildo is, do you?"  
"I do." Lizzie objected, staring hard at Gordo.  
"No," he argued, shaking his head. "You don't. And I want to know why Lanny wants a dildo."  
"Gordo!" Lizzie was becoming hysterical. "I know what a dildo is!" Gordo leaned in towards her. "If you know," he said in a low voice, "then why are you screaming the word?"  
"Because you are driving me insane."  
"Lizzie, are you really going to give the kid a dildo if he talks?" Gordo was on the verge of breaking up.  
"Yes!" She said. "Wouldn't you?"  
"Maybe," he said.  
"We better catch up," Lizzie said nervously.  
"What about Lanny?" Gordo asked, feeling a twinge of pity for the kid. "Lanny the Talking Man?"  
"Lanny, you want to come with us?" Lizzie asked. He did not say anymore, to everyone's disappointment. She finally sighed. "Do you want your dildo? Because if so you have to keep on talking." Lanny nodded. "Ugh!" Lizzie stomped off after the group. "That is it!"  
"Speaking of that is it," Gordo said, looking at Lanny. "Where is Matt?" Lanny pointed eastward. Gordo came over and rubbed the kid's head. "You are a good guy, Lanny. Keep it up."  
"Do I get my dildo?" Lanny's high voice perforated the air like a shooting bullet.  
"Shut up," Gordo muttered, going after Matt. He wasn't sure it was great to be going all over Italy by himself, but he figured that the principal would understand, as long as he projected his lower lip just right. He began travailing through the crowds, simply looking for a spiked brown head. Gordo finally spotted Matt near a colorful fruit stand, juggling 4 watermelons. He stopped to watch. The kid was impressive. But watermelons were expensive, Gordo reasoned. Breaking one would mean expensive Italian debt. His doubt about Matt's talent was further fostered because the fruit stand owner was yelling at him in rapid Italian. And a watermelon had dropped, making the crowd roar its support for Matt.  
Gordo quickly came over to intervene. The crowd roared in anger, throwing objects toward Gordo, who fended off a few of them with his hands. Something juicy and thick hit his hair.  
"I'm sorry," Gordo said to the fruit owner, coming up behind Matt and putting his hands on his shoulders. "I'll make sure he is severely punished." He leaned down to Matt's ear and whispered: run toward the little building over there and I'll be behind you." Matt wasn't smart, but he wasn't dumb, and he pushed through the crowds of people that blocked his way to kidnap him and made a quick beeline for the building. Gordo ran, as well, for the crowd was very angry with him. He made a quick prayer to whoever was the Master of him to not let the crowd murder the fruit stand owner and caught up to little Matt. Gordo took the time to realize that he was out of breath and he bent over, barely able to stand.  
"Matt," he managed to get out. "Don't EVER do that again."  
"Sorry," he said. "But the watermelons were there. And so tasty and round and bounce-able."  
"You need to learn to stay in one place." Gordo told him, now trying to wipe some of the gunk out of his hair.  
"You missed some." Matt informed him.  
"Where?" Gordo began fingering his hair.  
"Right—no, go to the right. Now the left." Matt instructed.  
"Here? Yeah, I can feel it," Gordo said. "Yuk. I think someone hurled a spit wad at me!"  
"Those Italians." Matt shook his head and crossed his arms in mock distaste.  
"Hey, listen, man. How did Lanny get here?"  
"He just got on a plane and arrived," Matt said, acting as if it were the most simple thing in the world.  
"Let's walk." Gordo suggested. "So, his parents just let him go?"  
"Well, yeah. They trust him." Matt replied.  
"But he is eleven years old," Gordo complained, trying to make sense of the situation. "And who was watching you guys?"  
"Dad. But he was dragged off by some guys that wanted to sell him a gnome. 


End file.
